


Teeny

by Starlithorizon



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: F/M, Female Martin Crieff, First Kiss, Fluff, Genderswap, I list all these characters and really only use two, Skipthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 06:41:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlithorizon/pseuds/Starlithorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martine Crieff hates her nickname, unless Arthur's the one saying it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> More fluffy fluff and Skipthur. I've since decided that, even if one or both of them is a woman, Skipthur is forever.  
> Skipthur fo' life, yo.

Growing up, Martine Crieff had always been the runt of the litter. She was the youngest, the shortest, the skinniest, the smallest altogether. It was quite apparent when one compared her to her brother and sister, but it was obviously there when she was compared to her classmates and neighbours. She hadn't had many friends, since no one wanted to talk to the short ginger kid who never talked about anything but bloody planes, but she didn't think she minded. _Much_.

She was grateful to be able to leave her less-than-glorious glory days behind her in her pursuit to become a powerful airline captain, but she knew well enough that some things just never really went away.

Take Douglas's second favourite nickname for her. The first was, of course, a long and drawled "Ma'am," often laden with sarcasm. The second was one that had haunted her from childhood.

Martine "Teeny" Crieff.

She was well aware that, even as an adult, she was still quite small. She'd never quite fallen in love with high heels, though she owned a couple of pairs, as any other woman did. They weren't particularly sensible for either line of work, so she stuck to flat shoes and suffered through being short. More than that, though, her pilot's uniform fit her horribly, fairly drowning her minuscule frame. It was quite obvious why she'd been called Teeny, and why Douglas loved to use the nickname on her. That was fine enough, she supposed, until _Carolyn_ started using it.

Arthur, however, lovely fellow that he was, almost always called her Skip or Skipper. It was likely that he had used his People Reading Skills to detect her distaste for the name.

Despite the fact that Douglas liked to tease her on her diminutive stature and less than diminutive _hat_ , things at MJN were good. She would even term them as _brilliant_.

That was until, of course, the patchwork crew found itself in Wendy Crieff's sitting room shortly after her _not_ heart attack.

She was already wincing when Simon called her from the sitting room. When he came out and commented on the polyester quality of her uniform, all she could do was grimace as Simon said, "Cm'ere, you!" and then proceeded to lift her into the air.

There were few things in the world she dreaded nowadays like she did Simon's Aeroplane Hugs. She loved her brother, clearly, but she did _not_ love his ridiculous, spinning hugs. She was an adult, and would rather have been treated as one.

None of that was nearly as bad as suffering through Carolyn and Douglas hearing everyone call her Teeny. She had to live in certainty that the name would stick around for centuries.

Later, as they were headed back to Fitton, Arthur catching a ride in her van, she turned to him a bit, chewing on her lip.

"You don't think I was awful to Simon back there, do you?" she asked nervously, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. Arthur was quietly thoughtful for a moment before speaking.

"You didn't really do anything bad, did you? I mean, it was mostly Mum and Douglas saying everything, and all _they_ did was talk about us flying and everything, so I don't think so."

She sighed, perhaps a bit unsteadily. Guilt was chewing on her a bit. While she was so glad to have finally scored a point over her brother, she _did_ feel bad. There she was, smiling and nodding as her crew made MJN seem so much more exciting than it actually was, all while Simon looked nervous and wrong-footed. He was her big brother and had a bit of a habit of undermining her, but maybe she wasn't meant to mess with the way of things.

As though reading her tumultuous thoughts, Arthur turned to her and smiled softly, laying a warm hand over the back of hers on the gear shift.

Something warm and light fluttered in her sternum, but she kept her eyes firmly fixed on the road ahead.


	2. Chapter 2

Martine hated her nickname for years. She hated that it made her feel like a child again, that it mocked those physical traits that most marked her, that Simon _still_ used it. She really, absolutely, completely _hated_ it.

Until she didn't.

In most mouths, the name was teasing and childish. On Arthur's lips, however, it was a quiet admission of fondness. It was soft, falling lightly from his tongue. It was rarely spoken, tucked in the corners between Skip and Martine, but it was just _so_ lovely.

She _loved_ it when Arthur said it, and that was the trouble.

* * *

"Morning, Douglas," Arthur said as he walked into the Portakabin. "Morning, Skip!"

Both pilots replied to Arthur's greeting easily and contentedly. Martine finished off her stack of paperwork, smiling a bit as she did so. Arthur set himself in front of the small table that was marked as the Tea and Coffee Table (by a small, ridiculously colourful sign in addition to the coffee maker and kettle) and Martine went to file the paperwork away.

"Teeny?"

Her heart fluttered stupidly.

"Yes, Arthur?"

"About the other day—are you feeling better?"

Truth be told, she'd felt better the moment Arthur said that it wasn't her fault, her happiness bolstered when Douglas and Carolyn agreed. Now, after the fact, she still felt amazing.

She smiled at the steward.

"Yeah, I am. Thank you."

He reached put and patted the back of her hand, as that was the closest.

"Always."

* * *

Her first piloting job, the only other one she'd had before MJN, was ridiculous. It was strictly professional, of course, and she was well aware that nearly no one knew her name. She was just that annoying, gawky first officer who also happened to be a woman. She was mistaken for a stewardess _far_ too often, and in a company that prided itself on being extremely professional and good to the few women in its ranks, she almost always had to room alone.

Of course, now, with Carolyn being dirt cheap and liable to book three people to a room, she shared rooms pretty constantly. When Carolyn knew that she was comfortable with the crew, she booked double beds as often as single beds. The MJN relationship was an easy one. No one expected a single thing of her other than the usual—don't crash the plane, be terrible at word games, be nice to Arthur, be a bit sniveling to Carolyn. MJN was truly the best thing in her life.

See, after a year of sleeping in a hotel room alone, and sleeping alone in her attic for far too _many_ years, she _liked_ sharing rooms with the crew.

You can't face your loneliness if you're not alone, right?

When they arrived in Nice, Martine making a textbook landing that garnered even Douglas's approval, Martine and Douglas played Rock-Paper-Scissors to see who got their own room.

She wasn't sure if she wanted to lose or not, but the fates decided and put her in a room with Arthur.

"C'mon, Skip, Douglas said we have half an hour to get ready for dinner," Arthur said, fairly dragging her out of the elevator, effectively breaking into her reverie.

"All right, all right," she said, unable to sound annoyed.

"Are you going to take a shower now, Skip?" Arthur asked once they were in the room and had claimed sides of the bed.

She shrugged. "No, I'll take mine before bed."

Arthur beamed. "Thanks, Teeny!"

Only he could be so incredibly grateful to her letting him take the shower first. She smiled to herself as she got her clothes from her flight bag. It only took a moment to get dressed, so she allowed herself a bit of time to do something to her hair and freshen her makeup.

Arthur came out of the bathroom after a bit, towel wrapped around his waist. His skin was clean and flushed, his hair hanging in damp curls around his face. Martine blushed furiously as she noted his nicely muscled torso, the bit of softness around his middle.

"Forgot my clothes," he chuckled, rifling through his bag and coming away with suitable things. He looked at her and smiled hugely. "You look awfully nice, Teeny."

Her blush darkened horribly.

"Thank you."

He disappeared for a few more minutes to get dressed, and she cringed at herself. This was _Arthur_ , she told himself. Arthur Shappey, her coworker and boss's son. She couldn't _possibly_ entertain feelings for him. It would be positively _moronic_.

But still, she couldn't contain the fluttery feeling in her chest at his use of the nickname. It sounded like a pet name coming from him, and she loved it.


	3. Chapter 3

The MJN crew liked to walk around the city when they had time, just to get a bit of culture and stretch out their legs. Douglas, being who he was, often had various anecdotes and interesting bits of trivia to share as they walked, acting as an impromptu tour guide. Arthur loved it, Martine mostly tolerated it.

After dinner in Nice, a nice meal paid for by a nice client, Douglas bowed out of the walk. He went back to his room, leaving Arthur and Martine to their own devices. The sun was only just beginning to set as they headed out, and the breeze was cool and briny, soft on their skin.

"Would you like to go to the beach for a bit?" Arthur suggested. Martine smiled.

"That sounds very nice."

The restaurant wasn't too far from the beach, and the pair soon found themselves with their feet buried in the soft, warm sand.

"It's too bad English beaches aren't like this, huh, Skip?"

Martine chuckled, sitting down on the sand. Arthur followed.

"Definitely. We need more Mediterranean beaches back home."

They sat quietly, companionably, as the sun went down and darkened the sky. The stars shone brightly here, which Martine appreciated more than really made sense. She had never much cared about the stars, aiming her whole world in the region below them.

The wind rustled softly in the trees, humming quietly along with the sound of the waves. She smiled, face tilted up toward the gently illuminated sky. She was a pilot because she loved flying, but this was a wonderful perk. Not everyone got to see the things she did, and it was amazing.

She opened her eyes and looked over at Arthur, who had adopted a similar pose. The starlight draped itself lightly over the curves and planes of his face, just barely illuminating them. It was so lovely that it was all she wanted to see.

All too suddenly, though, he opened his eyes, dark pools in the starlight, and turned them on her. They kept their quiet, letting the water and the wind speak instead.

"Teeny, may I..."

He trailed off, uncertain. She tilted her head.

"Yes?"

He took a deep breath, seemingly steeling himself.

"May I kiss you?"

That fluttering thing in her chest took off, turning into something like a huge flock of birds. Time drew slow and thick and viscous as honey and there was nothing else.

She nodded.

Arthur moved forward slowly, glacially, eyes trained on her lips. When they met in the middle, it was like fire, warm and easy and spreading out along her limbs. This wasn't the best kiss of her life, but it told of the millions of kisses that could come after that would be the best, each better than the last. A thousand promises hung in the space where their lips touched, where his hands found her waist, where hers tangled in his soft hair.

It ended much too soon, and when they broke apart, she couldn't help noticing the hot flush on Arthur's cheeks. His lips were beautifully reddened, eyes gloriously darkened, skin so warm through cloth.

"That was..." he murmured, and she could taste the word hovering on the end of his tongue. She leaned forward and took the _brilliant_ from him. It was brilliant, and luminescent, and glowing, and incandescent, and positively bright, white light. There were so many possibilities, theirs for the taking, and for the first time in her life, Martine refused to let them go.


End file.
